Mania
by coveryoureyes
Summary: They think her blind. But she sees - oh, does Lydia see. The living abandoned her to what they believe is her naivety, her obliviousness, and in that time she grew to prefer the dead. S2 AU in which Lydia's Banshee powers manifest much more powerfully.
1. Chapter 1

She dreams that there is a throne of bones tangled in the roots of a dead oak. She dreams of blood leaking slowly down window panes and crows tearing into the still-living flesh of twisted, terrible monsters that run through the forest.

She looks down at the spiral notebook on her desk, at the precise numbers and equations she had written three weeks before.

She doesn't know the answer.

* * *

Nobody knows that Lydia has returned to the preserve. Or perhaps they do, and no longer care enough to intervene. She hadn't remembered the first time she wandered along the dirt, leaves tangling her hair and becoming a macabre mimicry of a crown. But now when she wakes in a cradle of fallen branches she simply closes her eyes tightly, waiting until early morning to return home.

 _A fugue state_ they tell her. But the shades that lurk in the corner of her eye lovingly whisper that she is _theirs._ That she belongs among the trees where the moonlight turns her skin to marble and her hair to blood.

Allison is the first, and draws away slowly until all that is left are half truths and the monotonous repetition of a quiet _I'm busy, I'm sorry_. Jackson leaves too, and his words carve themselves dangerously deep on the surface of her heart. Each beat she bleeds, hating herself for having given her heart entirely and without caution.

But the dark figures grow bolder, carefully creeping closer and closer until eventually they stand before her, fully formed yet blurred along their edges. They reach forward cautiously and trace her veins as softly as a whisper when they promise that they will always be there, they will never leave her. Lydia is their _queen_ they say. They wrap her in embraces that are translucent as smoke, and she can nearly make out the features of their faces.

It doesn't take long before the boy appears to her, pouting lips and ice cold eyes. But she sees the fluorescent light shining through him and the opaque blackness that pours forth when he speaks, when he tries to seduce her with his silver tongue. He comes too close but before she has to scream, her shadows – Lydia's monstrous, beautiful companions – tear into his flesh and wrench him apart. Destroy the echo of the man whose teeth and claws marred her side forever.

The phantom blood that rains down on her is a karmic baptism and the drops taste sweet when they gather in the cracks of her chapped lips.

 _Mother to shadows. Daughter born of his vicious bite. Sister of shades._

She no longer cares that she might be losing her mind.

* * *

Lydia wears pretty dresses and her heels click loudly down the hallways as she walks. Her lipstick is never smudged and her hair is always curled to perfection. But her smiles have grown knife-sharp and when she teasingly trails her clawed fingernails down the biceps of the boys who lust after her, the shivers that wrack them are no longer born of arousal.

 _I don't know_ has become a familiar phrase, said in a biting tone that seems to take her teachers by surprise – but her mind is too occupied with the void she that is gleefully swallowing her to focus on something as trivial as math or the history of long dead humans.

She doubts that she still belongs in the latter category.

 _Nine pounds_ she had said with an arrogant smile. Her dress had been skin tight and Lydia had been proud to flaunt her newly slimmed down figure. But that was Before. When Allison had walked by her side and she had not yet been enlightened.

Her flesh continues to fall away from her frame. She loses her hips first and her breasts soon follow, but she feels no less womanly. She no longer needs to exude sexuality to feel powerful. Lydia does that on her own now. The emergence of sharp angles and protruding bones is noticed by her ghosts. She finally realizes that is what they are. Phantoms of those who died but didn't move on that she loves with the fierceness of a mother and that love her deeply – possessively – in return.

They think her blind. But she sees, oh, does Lydia see.

Her smiles grow brittle as she sits among her so-called friends. Stiles eventually stops his near-constant badgering, the prodding that makes her hiss out brutal words in return meant to hurt. Lydia does become slightly more interested in the group when she is able to see one day that savagery surrounds Scott, and a twisted sickness leaks from Jackson's pores. She watches in fascination as it spreads to more children – Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. Her eyes constantly wander to them, these beauties and beasts that she would never have looked twice at Before, until the words finally come to her courtesy of a lilting, feminine whisper.

 _Moon singers. Shape shifters. Werewolves._

Lydia knows she should not have favorites, that she should care for all of her ghosts with equal ferocity, but the woman whose lips brush softly against her ear is the one she holds dearest. The one whose touches she longs for most. Lydia is almost certain that the others know this, but they have shown no malice or anger. Instead she catches the shades who appear to have been only on the cusp on adulthood before their death teasingly smile when a blush creeps up her cheeks in response to the snorting laugh she has grown addicted to.

The living abandoned Lydia to what they believe is her naivety, her obliviousness, and in that time she grew to prefer the dead.

Lydia shivers slightly when her love traces fingertips down the knobs of her spine and she sees Scott whip his head in her direction, detecting her sudden movement. Their eyes meet and she sees his expression gradually shift from confused concern to a wariness that makes her bones tremble with glee.

She merely parts her blood red lips in response to his unspoken question and bares all her teeth in a smile that once brought boys to their knees.

He flinches in a manner that is barely perceptible, but Lydia has been speaking less and less these last few weeks and she now knows that observation is easier when pretty, vapid words no longer leak from between her teeth.

 _Only you could be equal parts beautiful and terrifying._

Lydia breaks the tense eye contact between herself and Scott, glancing down at her nearly untouched plate to hide her genuine smile at the teasing words.

Beneath the table, Laura Hale laces their fingers together and squeezes Lydia's hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Lydia sees the thread for the first time on the edge of her vision and immediately follows it with fascination, drawn to it. Sickly and acidic, it reeks of perversion, hatred, and blood.

The path leads from Jackson to Matt.

She looks to her companions and asks in a near silent whisper if they find it as interesting as she does. If they can taste the death – thick and sweet – heavily on their tongues too the closer they draw to the boys.

Allison, sweet and foolish, stands at her side as she exchanges books for her next class. She sees Lydia's lips move and wears a confused expression, not realizing that Lydia is speaking to the ghosts beside her.

 _What was that? I didn't hear you._

A smile creeps onto Lydia's face, and she shakes her head in silent, private amusement. Does the silly girl not realize they are no more than acquaintances? Any special fondness she felt for her disintegrated the moment weeks ago that Allison, reeking of wolfs bane, regurgitated lies and platitudes to try to keep her in the dark.

Lydia wonders where she would be if her lovelies had not come to her, if her former friends had succeeded in keeping her unaware. The apparition of Peter Hale would have seized her, no doubt. He could have used her, driven her to insanity with his wicked words. His shade had known to come to her and Lydia still has to suppress her fright at the thought that he _knew_ about her and had acted on that knowledge.

The huntress – yes, Laura had told her about the legacy of the Argent family – looks to her, hurt and confusion clear on her face.

 _Lydia, are you okay? You've been quiet lately –_

Ah, someone had noticed. How unexpected.

\- _and I'm worried._

The hand that reaches forward and gently encircles her forearm is the final straw. Showing none of the same gentleness, she grabs Allison's fingers and wrenches them back suddenly, not harsh enough to break bone, but certainly enough to hurt.

Ignoring the surprised cry of pain and subsequent heads that turn to observe their interaction, Lydia smoothes her expression into one of distaste and annoyance.

The ghosts that are with her laugh, some of them jokingly cheering her on. Adam - _1987 - drunk driving accident – 15 years old_ \- calls for a cat fight.

 _Allison, go away now._

Allison's mouth hangs open in shock, but Lydia closes her locker and turns to walk to her next class before the girl can say anything in return. 

* * *

There is so very _much_ to be done for the dead, and going to school no longer appeals to her. How could she be expected to stay enclosed within its walls when the phantoms playfully entice her to leave?

Lydia wanders the preserve with no aim in mind. She decided not to go to school on this particular day, instead she began driving to the edge of the forest.

No shoes grace her feet, and as hours pass the sun sinks beneath the horizon. She doesn't pause, instead she walks deeper into the woods, shedding her clothing layer by layer without care until eventually all that covers her is a curtain of hair and the shadows the trees cast.

The wind is more breeze than gust but still strong enough to pull dry leaves from their branches and drag them down, it hardens her nipples and raises goose bumps along her arms.

The trees scream without pause. Shrieking frantically as they tell Lydia, the only one who can hear, of the darkness that has been poisoning the soil, their roots. She nods, cooing to them while she traces patterns across their trunks.

 _It's alright, sweetlings. I'm here now._

She crouches low, pressing both her palms to the dry dirt and closes her eyes.

It is nothing short of _intoxicating._ This darkness is hers to take. Lydia feels it, the power born of the death of an innocent, infecting the very life that grows in this forest. It is twisted – razor sharp and freezing cold – and she wants nothing more than to devour it. But she knows she cannot just yet, she knows she is not strong enough.

None of the ghosts had followed her when she first wove her trail, but now when she opens her eyes she sees a select few emerge from between the trees. She notes with faint sadness that Laura is not among them, but after being told what happened to her in the preserve she cannot blame the woman in the least. The light from the moon sharpens each of them, and they would look nearly alive if it weren't for the soft white glow they seem to emit.

Smiling widely, Lydia stands and approaches the shade who is closest to her – Nicole - _1962 – broken neck after falling from a tree – 9 years old –_ one of her youngest. Lydia bends down to gently stroke the pad of her thumb across her left cheek before tucking the girl's unruly hair behind her ear from where it had escaped.

 _Hello sweetheart. I've found something that will be wonderful for all of us._

Nicole smiles after hearing her and reaches forward, holding her hand as they all begin to walk back in the direction of her car. Rocks tear at her soles until eventually she leaves bloody footprints on the ground with each careless step she takes.

She doesn't look back, so she cannot see that the blades of grass beneath each droplet dry and die.


	3. Chapter 3

They are absolutely _transparent_ in their planning. Lydia really doesn't understand how Scott and his little collection of misfits have managed to keep his secret relatively contained thus far. He and Stiles practically shout as they discuss werewolves, hunters, and reptilian creatures called kanimas. By now she has figured out that Jackson is the one whose identity they seek. Lydia wonders how long it will take them to discover the truth.

When Lydia's name is mentioned repeatedly during a single chemistry class she can barely hold in her laughter. Human beings are conditioned to hear their name above all other sounds, how on Earth do they underestimate her intelligence to this level? Especially when Stiles had always yammered on about her intellect as if his recognition made him special to her.

Leah - _1993 – heroin overdose – 16 years old -_ is the one who wanders around the room and listens in on the werewolves. Only a minute later she saunters back with an amused smirk on her pretty face as she relays what she has overheard.

 _A guy named Derek thinks you're the one rocking the reptile print. They mean to test your reaction to the kanima's venom. It looks like it'll be on the crystal thing for some reason._

Lydia flashes a quick smile at the spirit with whom she has developed a sisterly relationship and quietly murmurs back at her to answer her indirect question.

 _The final product of the reaction will be a sugar crystal. We'll probably be eating them at the end of class._

She would have to be entirely unable to pick up on social cues to have not noticed the animosity between Scott's group and the three werewolves who were turned recently. The newest ones are absurdly obvious in their predatory behavior, and their reaction at the conclusion of the lab is immensely entertaining when she foils their plot.

 _No thank you, you can eat it. I'm watching my sugar intake._

Lydia is fairly certain every student in the room can hear the growling that erupts when she finishes speaking.

* * *

It is clear to Lydia that the McCall pack has reached the conclusion that she is not the monster they seek. They leave her alone and she is thankful for the reprieve from speaking with the teenagers as they pretend to care for her wellbeing.

It is in the forest that the kanima finds her.

It reeks of death, but cold and sharp rather than the iron and blood she has grown used to. Jackson approaches her slowly in this form and she laughs lowly when the thought hits her.

 _The monster loves her more than the man._

Lydia coos softly at the beast and it comes to sit beside her, reptilian eyes blinking slowly and assessing her. She seems to pass its inspection when its tail wraps around her legs protectively. The scales are surprisingly warm against her naked skin and she trails her fingertips over the patterns they form.

She is almost sure that if she were to try to seize control, Jackson would do her bidding instead of catering to the vengeful whims of the boy. But Lydia is nothing if not busy and shoos it away after the moon has moved across the sky.


End file.
